


Mendes

by conormonaghan



Category: Justin Bieber (Musician), Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Cocky Justin Bieber, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Oral Sex, Seduction, Spit Kink, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conormonaghan/pseuds/conormonaghan
Summary: Justin Bieber goes on tour. His opening acts are Troye Sivan and Shawn Mendes.





	1. Fans

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can read early drafts of future chapters and work as they become available at www.conormonaghan.com

“You’re seriously telling me that you’ve never hooked up with a fan, Mendes?”

“Never,” Shawn repeats with a shy smile.

Justin Bieber, Shawn Mendes, and Troye Sivan are seated on a sprawling U-shaped couch, nestled in a shared penthouse suite at the MGM Grand in Vegas. In between them, an amorphous granite table is a wasteland for empty beer bottles. Justin is wearing basketball shorts and a red dri-fit Under Armour t-shirt. A few feet to his right sits Troye, clothed in an over-long striped sweater and jeans. On the other side of the couch, Shawn, outfitted in all black, a t-shirt and jeans.

Shawn and Troye are serving as opening acts for Justin on his latest tour. The jaunt has been ongoing for several months; they landed in Vegas earlier today for a show schedule for tomorrow. A night to relax.

Positioned at the far side of the room, pouring shots of bourbon for themselves, are Cameron Dallas and Nash Grier, two of Shawn’s friends from his early days as a Vine star. They flew in to tag along for a boy’s night in Vegas: gambling, drinking, women. Whatever the night may be bring.

A clink of glasses. Bottoms up. Cameron and Nash down the two shots.

“Listen, Mendes, I’m not saying that you’re gay, but I think you must like dick.”

Shawn rolls his eyes. “What does that have to do with anything? I just don’t need to resort to desperate fans to get some. It’s not worth the risks, anyway. I don’t want STDs. I don’t want it to end up in the news.”

“Simple. Wrap it up, and keep an eye out for cameras. I used to worry about girls I fucked going to the tabloids, but eventually I realized they never do. The girls who do end up going to the tabloids are the ones who have never met you in the first place, who just want to be famous or make some money. For every lying bitch that you’ve seen in a magazine claiming that she’s pregnant with my baby, there are fifty more whose asses I actually plowed.

“It’s not really all that surprising that it works out like that, either. Think about, put yourself in her shoes: I just spent all night kissing Justin Bieber’s ass and swallowing his loads. Should I go to the tabloids and tell them? Who the fuck would even believe them?

“All I’m saying is that fans want to service you, so let them,” Justin finally concludes.

“I don’t need to resort to desperate fans,” Shawn shrugs.

“Having sex with fans isn’t about just getting pussy. It’s about fucking someone who really, truly wants it. The type of girl who wants to please you and will let you do anything that you tell her to. Suck your cock. Lick your balls. Take it in the ass. My life changed the day a girl licked my ass for the first time.”

“Amen,” Cameron says drunkenly, raising a freshly opened beer can in salute.

Justin smiles. “Cameron here knows what I’m talking about.”

“Hell yeah. Getting your ass licked is like getting two blowjobs at the same time.”

Troye’s eyes narrow in judgment, reflecting on the brainless comment.

Shawn shrugs. “I’m just not sure how I feel about having a girl’s mouth down there. I don’t think I would want to kiss her if she had her mouth on my ass, and kissing is one of the best parts about sex. It’s intimate.”

Justin rolls his eyes. “Like I said, you’re a faggot, Mendes. No offense, Troye.”

Troye shrugs, acknowledging the comment with eye contact.

Justin continues:

“The best sex isn’t about intimacy. It’s about fucking the shit out of someone. Owning them.”

“I enjoy my time with women, Justin. I just prefer treating them with respect,” Shawn replies.

Justin is annoyed by Shawn’s attitude. He can’t quite place the anger; in reality, it is something more than simple insecurity. At one point in the past, people thought of Justin Bieber as the authentic heartthrob, incorruptible, pure, back when he released his first few singles as a kid. Of course, they never really knew him, because he was never innocent. Lost his virginity a few months after entering the business and never looked back. But they had that image of him. Now, people thought of him as a douche and looked at Shawn the same way they used to look at him, the ladies’ man, assuming he was innocent, but Justin knows better than most that there is no such innocence for men like him and Shawn.

He’s also mildly irritated by the fact that the tour organizers placed them all in the same suite. The suite was outlandish, had more than enough room for each of them, including the two visitors, but it was the principle of the matter. He should have his own suite. Then again, he couldn’t complain too much, thinking about the big picture. Shawn Mendes was the most successful new teen idol, having hailed from Ontario, just as he did, and produced what could now be safely referred to as a string of radio hits. Stack on top of that his looks, legions of obsessed fans, and the romance rumors about him and Selena, and you are left with Justin Bieber’s archnemesis. Thus, landing him as an opening act is a reprieve, a clarification of the male teen idol hierarchy.

After quiet rumination, Justin renews his pursuit of the conversation. “What about you guys?” Justin asks, looking towards Cameron and Nash. “Ever fuck a fan?”

“Maybe one, or two...or ten,” Cameron replies, placing a hand on the back of an invisible girl positioned doggystyle in front of him and drilling her. Nash joins in on the action, claiming the girl’s mouth.

Justin beams. “What about you Troye? I’m assuming you have lots of boy fans to fuck.”

“Maybe,” Troye replies, joining the conversation at last with a devious wink.

“My man,” Justin laughs.

“Hey, I’ve got nothing to hide. I love dick,” he states with a suggestive lick of his lips. I’m just not much of a bottom,” he adds.

“Bottom?” Shawn questions as a glazed look streaks across his face.

“The bottom is the guy who takes the cock and the top is the one who gives it,” Troye says simply.

“No shit? I would have figured you would be the one on your knees taking the dick, Sivan. You just have that look. No offense,” Bieber adds with a wink.

“None taken. After all, I could say the same about you, Justin. I’m sure I’m not the only who notices that you seem to like flashing your ass to every photographer that will take  picture,” Troye responds with a second suggestive licking of lips.

Cameron and Nash reestablish their presence with a loud snicker at Justin’s expense.

“Fuck you,” Justin croaks. “I bet you’ve spent some time thinking about my ass.”

“Hell yeah, why deny it?” Troye shrugs.

Justin smirks in satisfaction, before continuing. “So how does it work, anyway? I’m assuming that the guy with the smaller dick is the bottom? That’s how it should work, at least. The dude with the smaller dick should be taking it in the ass and mouth from the dude with the bigger one,” Justin reasons.

“It works like that sometimes, but not always. Some guys just love taking cock up their ass,” Troye explains.

“Is that true, Mendes? Do you just love taking cock up the ass?” Bieber taunts, redirecting the conversation yet again to Shawn.

“Suck it, Bieber. Anyway, I’m headed to bed,” Shawn yawns. He stands up from the couch and lifts his hands above his head to stretch. His black t-shirt lifts enough to reveal the lower half of his torso, a fully developed six pack and the waistband of some Calvin Klein boxer briefs, framed by a muscular V.

Justin scans his exposed body briefly, but his eyes retreat just before Shawn finishes the stretch.

“What the hell, man,” Cameron complains. “We fly all the way here, and you’re going to bed at midnight?”

“Dude, I’m beat. You should should go out with Justin and Troye, though. Have some fun."


	2. Night Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin, Troye, Cameron, and Nash return from a night out in Vegas. They prank a sleeping Shawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can read early drafts of future chapters and work as they become available at www.conormonaghan.com

4AM. Justin quietly turns the knob to Shawn’s bedroom door, eases it open, and peers in. The room is soaked in darkness, a few suffocated rays of Las Vegas light leaking in through the blinds its only respite. No audible protest from Shawn in response to the intrusion, so it seems safe. Justin tiptoes into the room, followed by Cameron, Nash, and finally, a semi-reluctant but ultimately bored Troye.

The boys are severely inebriated. The past four hours were spent living the Vegas life: gambling, consuming, basking in the dizzying highs of the city where everything is left behind. They returned to the suite only for the promise of a few blunts, fully intending to the return to the Vegas night, but the marijuana ultimately left them sedated and lost in conversation, a conversation which was eventually steered back to Shawn Mendes, his sexual proclivities, or lack thereof, his general “pussy-ness”, as Bieber eloquently termed it. A few minutes of storytime about Shawn’s past evolved into a roast of Shawn’s not-so-secret flamboyance, which evolved into Justin talking the boys into having a little fun pranking the sleeping Shawn, whatever that might entail.

“Hey, Nash, take my phone and light up the room a bit, but not too bright,” Justin whispers, handing his phone to the younger boy.

Nash obediently receives it, switches the rear LED light on and scans the abyss. The light traces the skirts of the room before settling towards the center, on the bed. The bed is absurdly large, wider and longer than an ordinary King, absent a headboard, and oddly positioned in the center of the room, atop a slightly raised platform, as if the entire room were conceived as an exhibition floor for it.

Justin makes his way silently towards the bed. He’s shirtless, it must have been discarded at some point while he was smoking with the boys. The other three young men spread out along the periphery of the room. Nash, in particular, keeps his distance to avoid waking Shawn’s sleeping form with the light.

Shawn is laid out on his back across the bed. He must be prone to movement in his sleep, as the blanket is disheveled, now only partially concealing his body. Perhaps not such a bad thing. He appears to be fast asleep, one arm curled above his head on the pillow, the other resting motionlessly by his side. He is naked aside from a pair of underwear. His legs are mostly tucked beneath the blanket. He must have changed earlier, the boxer briefs he was wearing earlier have been replaced by a pair of loose, green Hanes boxers, Justin vaguely realizes.

As Justin approaches the bed, he turns to face Nash. “Get this on video, man,” he whispers.

Still following orders, Nash opens up the camera application and starts recording.

Justin drops his shorts on the floor and cautiously steps onto the bed. He places one foot on either side of Shawn’s head, accidentally nudging Shawn in the process.

For a brief few moments, every boy in the room holds his breath. Shawn tosses and turns in response to the disturbance, but after a groggy noise and repositioning his head, he comes to a still, mouth agape.

Justin smiles at the new development. He bends his neck forward a bit, dangling his head over Shawn’s, and swishes his mouth for a few seconds. A wad of spit escapes from between his lips and slowly drops into Shawn’s open mouth.

Laughs from Cameron and Nash shatter the silence in the room. Justin, barely able to contain his own laughter, beaming, tries to signal for them to tone it down. The laughter is stifled for the most part, and more importantly, Nash manages to restabilize the camera in his hands.

Justin waves Cameron over.

Cameron makes his way up to the head of the bed, still smiling. Following Bieber’s lead, he leans his head out over Shawn’s and swishes the spit in his mouth around for a few seconds, taking his time, longer than Bieber, even adding a hock on the end before opening his mouth and dropping a second load of spit into Shawn’s mouth.

Justin, Cameron, Nash laugh.

“Jeez, you guys are fucked up in the head,” Troye whispers.

Justin, still standing on the bed wearing nothing but his white Calvin Klein boxer briefs, decides to take it a step further. He signals for Nash to move in closer to the head of the bed. He lowers his boxer briefs to his hips, giving the camera a nice view of his boner. He’s cut, six inches, hard, and his pubes are trimmed short. He swings his cock around for the camera for a few seconds before turning around to face the foot of the bed, ass aimed at Shawn’s face below. He bends over.

From the camera’s point of view: the head and exposes torso of Shawn Mendes, seen from above, stretching across the bed, from wild brown hair, to chiseled pecs, to toned abs, to happy trial, dipping innocently into a pair of green Hanes boxers. In the frame, his sleeping body flanked on left and right by the bare legs of Justin Bieber, white Calvin Klein boxer briefs wrapped taut around his knees, and above by Bieber’s clenched, pale ass cheeks, with a decently sized cock and two shaved, low-hanging balls dangling just below.

Justin lowers himself with measurable care, his ball sack falling inch by inch towards Shawn’s face. At some point, as Bieber bends lower, his asshole comes into view in the frame of the camera. Hairless.

Finally, Justin’s balls break the invisible barrier and plunge into Shawn’s open mouth. He takes a few moments to teabag Shawn repeatedly and then lowers his balls as deep into Shawn’s mouth as he can manage, until his hard cock rests on Shawn’s chin, and farts in his face.

As with the previous juvenile developments, Nash and Cameron burst out in laughter, this time utterly unable to contain themselves, falling to the floor clutching their stomachs momentarily.

Satisfied, Bieber lifts his sack out of Shawn’s mouth and pulls his underwear up before stepping off the bed.

Cameron’s turn. He lifts himself from the ground and drops his jeans and underwear to the floor. Black Calvin Klein boxer briefs, not too different from the ones Shawn was wearing earlier, Justin observes. Then, he glances at Cameron’s dick. It looks about seven inches long, bigger than his. Trimmed pubes.

Cameron carefully steps onto the bed and repeats the motions exactly. He bends over and slowly lowers his trimmed ballsack into Shawn’s waiting mouth and teabags him several times for added comic effect, before letting his ballsack soak in Shawn’s mouth. He lowers himself until Shawn’s nose is buried in his ass, partially pretending to sit on and partially actually sitting on Shawn’s face.

“Maybe we should see if Shawn likes having a mouth full of sweaty balls, boys,” Justin whispers. With Cameron still sitting on Shawn’s face, Justin walks up to the bed and snakes his fingers into the waistband of Shawn’s underwear. He’s able to lower the loose boxers without disturbing Shawn.

His eyes widen. Shawn’s penis is huge, and completely soft. He has a larger-than-expected bush of brown pubes. Taken aback, Justin measures it silently for a few moments. It looks to be about seven inches, so probably the same size as Cameron’s hard dick, but then, why is he shocked? Then, it dawns on him. Shawn is thick. Thicker than him. A lot thicker. His balls are big too, lightly dusted in hair.

“Damn, I half-expected him to have a hard-on with a mouth full of balls,” Cameron comments from above, jerking Justin back to reality. He quickly pulls the boxers roughly back up over Shawn’s sleeping bulge, suddenly realizing that the camera has now soaked in the images of three cocks, his the smallest.

Cameron hops off the bed and lands with a thud. He slips his boxer briefs back on, then reaches for his jeans, but decides against putting them back on, slinging them over his shoulder instead.

Justin walks towards Nash. “You get all that?”


	3. Mendes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin and Shawn return to their hotel suite after working out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can read early drafts of future chapters and work as they become available at www.conormonaghan.com

New York, New York. Justin and Shawn walk into their shared suite at the top floor of the Four Seasons. They just finished working out at the gym down the hall. Troye is out, reacquainting himself with some old friends in the city, but for these two, the tour fatigue has long since set in. Months performing in front of thousands almost every night takes a toll on the mind and body.

Both boys are wearing gym clothes: black t-shirts, black basketball shorts, socks. Their sneakers are discarded by the door. Their bodies are both damp, still covered in a rapidly cooling layer of sweat.

Shawn sits on the couch. Justin stands in the center of the living area. The room is quiet. It’s midday. Lazy rays of light lounge in the corner, warming the room. It’s sunny.

Justin pulls out his phone to check it. He’s been texting Selena all day, but it’s been a one way conversation, which is to say it hasn’t been a conversation at all. He heard from a friend that she was in town, so he expected a response, maybe a hookup tonight. They weren’t on the best of terms, but why not?

Still five hours before the show. He needs to shower. What else?

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. As if. Shawn had woken the next morning to a text message containing the video. The boys clowned on him throughout breakfast, forcing him to sit through and endure the humiliation in front of them, the spit, the tea bagging, everything. Boys will be boys.

But by the afternoon, Troye was over the immaturity, Cameron and Nash had moved on to new distractions, and it was forgotten. By everyone, except for Justin. In the weeks following, he took advantage of every free moment, on tour, treating it as a fresh opportunity to share the experience with Shawn, again and again. He would send Shawn text messages containing screenshots from the video. On the road, whenever they were stuck sharing the same suite, he would stream the video to a television, diligently maxing out the volume so that the sound of Shawn’s humiliation would seek him out no matter where he chose to lounge in the suite. He was careful to only torture Shawn when they were alone together, though. He didn’t want Troye to think he was obsessing over something that he wasn’t. Just a way to kill time.

This afternoon was no different, and Shawn reluctantly, though unknowingly, has a front row seat for the events. Justin switches on the stream to the television sitting just a few feet away. The screen clicks on. Justin seeks through the video to locate his favorite part before pressing play, so that the sound of his fart in Shawn’s sleeping face is the sound to finally the shatter the silence of the room.

Startled, Shawn jumps, but he quickly recovers once he realizes what’s happening. He rolls his eyes before standing up and retreating to his bedroom without a word.

Justin turns the television volume up and looks down at his phone. Solid two minutes occupied. He leaves the video streaming, but drops his phone on the couch carelessly before taking his leave from the room. He makes his way into his bedroom. It’s the largest of the three, and rightfully so. He lifts his shirt up over his head and throws it on the floor, adding to the disarray. They checked in this morning, but his room is already littered: deoderant on the dresser, an open box of donuts from Tim Horton’s on the bedside table; piles of clothes and shoes spread seemingly at random, the remnants of Justin’s time trying to pick out an outfit for this afternoon; and the clothes he was wearing this morning on the airplane before checking in, some adidas track pants, an earth-toned hoodie, and some dirty underwear. He finishes stripping for the shower and adds a second pair of dirty underwear to the pile.

He walks into the bathroom and turns the faucet. He gives the shower some time to heat up while he looks at himself in the mirror. Toned muscles. Full sleeves, tattoos canvassing his entire chest and stomach. A slim happy trail leading down to his pubes, trimmed clean and short this morning, one less thing he has to do in the shower. His long cock hangs down over his balls.

Satisfied, he opens the door and hops into the shower. He lathers the body wash and works it slowly over his body, first and back, then his pubic area, fully coating his cock and balls. He even takes the time to clean out his ass crack for good measure, still clinging to the hope that he might meet up with Selena tonight.

He leans his head against the tile beneath the faucet and closes his eyes, letting the water pour down over his face, scalding but relaxing, a physical and mental cleansing. What the fuck has been up with Selena lately? Sure, they’ve had their ups and downs, and they were definitely in a slump, but why ignore him? She usually had the decency to respond to him. The rumors about her and Shawn circled in the back of his mind.

He flips the shower knob off. The flow of water dies down to a trickle. The glass door to the shower opens and steam pours out to battle with the frigid bathroom air. Then follows the naked body of Justin Bieber, flaccid cock dangling, fertilized by the heat of the shower. He grabs a towel from the rack and rubs it over his body, starting at his head, before looking into the mirror. His hair is long and shaggy, probably the longest it’s been since the advent of the original Bieber bob. He likes the look, feels that itl lends him a new air of sexual mystery. He turns to the side, now admiring his backside in the mirror. He has been working on his back muscles and lower body at the gym. His eyes move down to his ass. He has a swimsuit tan from a recent vacation. Troye was right about him, he loves showing off his ass, to girls he fucks, to the cameras, to whoever. He knows it’s a nice ass and if it can help a fan get off, bring her fantasies to life, get her wet while she imagines herself on her knees behind him with her tongue in his crack, then all the better.

Finally dry, he drops the towel carelessly on the tile floor and walks into the closet. Fortunately, handlers stock it in each city before he arrives, filling it with pieces carefully drawn from the collections of designers around the globe, designers hoping that he’ll grace the covers of a tabloid with their creations on display. He lazily digs out a brand new pair of white CK underwear from an unopened bag and steps into them. Then, he picks out a pair of black basketball shorts. No shirt.

He returns to the bedroom, now searching for his phone. It’s nowhere to be found. After a few moments, he realizes that he left it in the living room and heads there, where he spots it on the couch.

He jogs over to pick it up. Text message. That instant rush of excitement. It’s not Selena. It’s Shawn. He opens the text. It’s a screenshot. He taps it to enlarge. What the fuck.

It’s a text conversation. A conversation between Shawn and Selena. The most recent message from Selena is dated at 7:03PM last night.

_**Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Night ;)** _

Then, Shawn’s reply.

_**Morning ;)** _

Attached below Shawn’s reply was a picture message. A picture of a cock. A pornstar cock. A completely erect monster cock. Justin recognizes it, though. That wild mound of pubic hair around it. His heart stops. It belongs to Shawn. Obviously, he had surrendered to the reality that Shawn was a decently endowed dude, after glimpsing his limp meat a month prior, but he had assumed Shawn was just a shower. Some guys were, after all. But, he’s not. He’s a grower. Then again, with no frame of reference in the picture, how can he be sure of the size? It may look bigger and thicker, but it could just be the angle. He wasn’t going to send a picture of his meat to a girl from bad angle.

Then the greater humiliation set in. What the fuck was he doing sending this to Selena?

He stands stunned for a few moments, confused. Then, he makes his way to Shawn’s bedroom. The door is ajar, so he enters the room uninvited, without warning. He’s not sure what he’ll say to Shawn’s face, but he’s operating on rage now, ready to confront him nonetheless. He scans the room. No sign of Shawn. There’s a large duffle bag laying open on the hardwood floor. An iPhone charger on the bedside table. A pair of black desert boots sitting on a mesh chair. A pile of dirty clothes near the bathroom door.

He paces over to the bathroom. No Shawn in there, either. He glances down at the pile of clothes. Some pajama pants, a t-shirt, some black underwear. The clothes Shawn was wearing earlier this morning before they changed to head to the gym. The underwear are Calvin Klein. Either boxer briefs or trunks. He always through his dirty underwear on the floor too, knew that someone would pick them up and throw them away from him. He never wore the same pair twice. Did Shawn? He bends over and picks them up, inspecting them in his outstretched hand. Trunks. Smaller and tighter than ordinary boxer briefs.

Suddenly an arms wraps around his neck and lifts him off the ground into a chokehold. The wind is instantly knocked out of him. A second arm reaches out and grabs the underwear from his hand before bringing them to rub against his face.

His immediate reaction is to scream. His bodyguard isn’t around, not even standing outside of the room, but he screams nonetheless, thinking that someone might hear. His outburst is muffled by the combination of underwear and vice-like necklock. Whoever has him locked in this position is built, muscular, at least 6’2’’, half a foot or more taller than him, lifting him off the ground with ease.

Justin continues to panic. He can’t see. The briefs are blocking out his vision, strangling his entire face. His eyes are useless. His voice is useless. He tries using his legs to kick the intruder, but they aren’t connecting from this position.

“What are you doing in my room, Bieber?”

It’s Shawn, Justin realizes. Shock abating, heart pounding, his fear transforms into rage. First, he brags about sending my ex a picture of his dick, and now he has me in a chokehold. He swings his legs again to try and catch Shawn in the sack. No luck.

“I guess you’re mad that I was texting Selena. Sorry, bro. Looks like I’ll be fucking her tonight.”

Justin takes another swing at Shawn, this time with arm and this time making contact, but from this position the blow doesn’t carry much force. Shawn ignores it.

“I don’t blame you, but I have to say that I was surprised to walk in here and see you feeling up my dirty underwear, man. Not very bro of you. How do my undies smell?” Shawn laughs.

Fear replaced by rage. Rage replaced by embarrassment. Embarrassment accompanied by realization.

“Speaking of which, if you wanted my ass in your face, you just had to ask dude,” Shawn continues.

“Fuck you!” Justin screams into Shawn’s underwear.

“You know, now that you’ve forced me to watch that video a dozen times, it doesn’t bother me anymore. My favorite part is when you jump on the bed and swing your dick around for the camera like a douche. It’s kind of funny, man. Has anyone ever told you how small your dick is, though? No offense, just in case you think of swinging it around again on camera, you might want to reconsider. I expected more after all the media craze about your soft dick in those paparazzi pictures.”

Justin stops struggling, face scorched red with embarrassment beneath the briefs. Shawn removes them from his face ands wads them into a ball. He roughly stuffs them into Justin’s mouth.

Shawn relocates his newly freed hand to Justin’s waist and yanks down his only two articles of clothing: black basketball shorts and white CK briefs. They fall in a heap to the brown hardwood floor.

“How did I know you would be enjoying this?”

Justin is still suspended above the ground in a chokehold. His penis is erect. Shawn flicks it a few times with his free hand, causing Justin to flinch.

Then, Shawn whispers.

“Bieber. Want to feel the cock that fucked your ex last?”

Justin feels a large, warm hand wrap around his. His hand is guided into Shawn’s shorts, into his underwear. His first instinct is to go for the balls and break free from the chokehold, but his motivation dissolves when his hands wrap around Shawn’s cock. It’s warm. Sticky. Moist inside Shawn’s underwear. He hasn’t showered yet, Justin realizes. His hand isn’t large enough to hold the entire cock, so he moves up and down the length to evaluate its size, moving from tip to base, where his hand is engulfed by a forest of pubes.

“Stroke it,” Shawn breathes in his ear, tightening the grip on his neck.

Justin obeys, and starts slowly moving his hand up and down Shawn’s cock.

Shawn reaches his fingers into Justin’s mouth and extracts the briefs. He rubs his index finger on Justin’s lips. After a few seconds, Justin submits and opens his mouth, allowing the invader in.

Shawn pushes the finger deep into Justin’s mouth, lets him suck on it, coat it with a nice thick layer of saliva. He removes it after a few moments and moves his hand down to Justin’s ass, which immediately clenches. He slaps it. Hard. Bieber shrieks. Shawn rubs his wet index finger up and down Justin’s crack. His cheeks slowly loosen, giving Shawn access to its depths. He circles Justin’s asshole for a few moments, prompting an unsanctioned moan from Bieber’s lips.

Shawn smiles.

He releases Bieber from the chokehold, letting him fall harshly to the ground. He pushes Bieber back against the bed, his naked ass now resting on the cold hard floor. Shawn grabs him by the hair and moves his crotch up to Bieber’s face.

Shawn lowers his shorts and underwear to the ground. Bieber’s first true look at his hard cock. He is truly hung. His penis is completely erect, but so long and thick that it doesn’t jut straight out; it just dangles down from his pubes, suspended over a manly sack, if ever there was one.

Justin is silent, in a trance, but whether from fear, shock, or longing, it’s unclear.

“Which cock do you think Selena prefers? Mine or yours?” Shawn asks, slapping his penis against Justin’s cheek. “I think you like mine more,” Shawn adds, alluding to the hard dick between Justin’s legs.

He lifts his right foot onto the bed beside Bieber’s head and places his hand on the back of Justin’s head, encouraging him forward. Justin complies, opens his mouth, and takes the penis into his mouth. It’s thick, difficult for Justin to swallow, and salty. Shawn helps him out, guiding Justin’s head up and down his long shaft. Justin stares into Shawn’s bush, too embarrassed to peer up into his eyes.

Shawn quickly reaches the limit. Five inches and Bieber is coughing. Shawn pushes a little bit more in, choking him with a few deep thrusts before pulling out. Shawn slaps the saliva-covered cock on Bieber’s forehead and moving his pelvis forward, encouraging Justin to keep licking, to explore his body with his tongue, which he does, sliding his tongue over Shawn’s balls, his perineum, and finally, his ass.

Shawn’s ass appears hairless, but Justin’s tongue soon discovers the dark hairs lining his crack.

Shawn looks down at him. Justin is still hard. Shawn can see precum leaking out of his tip.

“I told you all you had to do was ask, man.”

Justin moans, almost imperceptible, if not for the soft vibration against Shawn’s ass.

Shawn looks to the ceiling with closed eyes, absorbing the sensation, the feeling of a warm tongue navigating the inside of his ass cheeks, a tongue that in five short minutes has been demoted from the mouths and soft clits of women to his sweaty ass cheeks, but then again, it’s been a long time coming.

Finally, Shawn reaches down and grabs Justin’s hair. He removes his leg from the bed and throws Justin onto the bed. He places his hands on Justin’s feet and slides them up his legs, against the friction of his light hairs, scales them until his hands reach the bend of Justin’s knees. He pushes Justin’s legs back against his chest, moving his body onto the bed and on top of Justin in a synchronous movement.

He looks directly into Justin’s eyes. Inches separate them. He whispers.

“Come on, Bieber. Hold them for me. Show me you want it.”

Justin, hypnotized, paralyzed by embarrassment, lays motionless. Then, his hands reach up to latch onto his feet, one hand on each foot. Shawn places one hand on each of Justin’s and applies pressure, extending Justin’s feet farther above his head. Shawn releases and stands up. Justin holds his legs in place.

Justin’s naked body, from hairless pink asshole to tattooed torso, is exposed to Shawn. His balls are taut, pulled up near his hard cock, leaking a pool of warm precum onto his stomach.

Shawn smiles and rubs his penis on Justin’s asshole, teasing it. Justin looks toward the ceiling. His cheeks are visible flushed. Shawn sinks the head of past Justin’s rim. Justin’s eyes widen, mouth prepared to scream in pain, but he doesn’t. Shawn reaches down and slap his face gently.

“Look at me.”

Justin does.

With the head penetrating Justin and his legs pulled back, there is little resistance. Shawn slides his penis in an what might be a leisurely pace, if not for how hung he was; instead, it is unforgiving, giving Justin little time to adjust his ass to the girth and length, purposefully silenced moans managing to leak out into the room.

Shawn is gentle, tests the waters, gives him an inch at a time, pulling out and pushing back in with care, repeating the motion again and again, until his pubes bottom out against Justin’s ass.

He stands still, allows Justin to take an accounting of the butt-stuffing he’s receiving, of the nine inches of meat opening his ass. Still staring down at him, Shawn lifts his hands up and positions them behind his head, fully exposing his own naked chest, sprinkled with the faintest dusting of chest hair, his hairy underarms, his muscular torso, to Justin. Somehow, he appears even more masculine, even more dominant in this position. He doesn’t need his hands. The bitch has his legs pulled back begging for it.

He starts butt-fucking Justin, hard. His balls slap against Justin’s ass with each thrust.

The moans have evaporated, but Justin’s mouth is open in silent ecstasy. He is a wreck. His stomach is covered in precum. He’s covered in sweat, but his hands are still gripping his feet, keeping them pulled back behind his head. He’s staring into Shawn’s eyes, intoxicated by the feeling of his ass being opened, stretching to accommodate a man’s cock for the first time.

Jets of hot cum streak his face, his lips, drip into his open mouth. Shawn’s cock is buried in his ass. It’s his semen. Shawn looks down at Justin. His cock looks even smaller from this angle, with his own meat moving in and out of Justin’s ass as a point of reference. He considers opening his mouth to share the thought with Justin, but he resists. Instead, he leans forward over Justin. His tongue snakes out from between his lips and a wad of spit pools at the end before dripping slowly, deliberately into Bieber’s open mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story!
> 
> Feel free to provide feedback in the comments section or at conor.monaghan.writing@gmail.com
> 
> You can read early drafts of future chapters and work as they become available at www.conormonaghan.com


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